


What Kind of Man

by Penguinteacup



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: About morse, Friendship, M/M, Mostly jakes' inner monologue, nothing happens, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 19:23:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5940286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penguinteacup/pseuds/Penguinteacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What kind of man doesn't drink a cup of tea that his colleague has very kindly made him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Kind of Man

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [What Kind of Man (Chinese Version)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7994179) by [Christardis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Christardis/pseuds/Christardis)



Morse is irritating. Most people would agree with that, Jakes thinks, chewing on the end of his pencil. Not _everyone_ agrees of course, certain kinds of women fall at his feet for no discernible reason and Thursday thinks the sun shines out of his arse, but when Jakes brings up the name Morse to other blokes at the station he can be assured of at least a few understanding sighs and tuts and the use of words like 'prickly' and 'smug git' that bring him much needed validation. And if, later, when Morse is hunched over his paperwork in dogged concentration, Jakes feels a stab of remorse for complaining about him to anyone who'll listen, well that's neither here nor there.

He's mostly irritating, Jakes supposes, because he's always bloody right. No matter how outlandish or unlikely his theories, lo and behold they turn out to be true. All hinging on some obscure classical or operatic knowledge that only Morse could possibly pull out of that college-educated treasure trove brain of his. And yes it's all very clever and that but just once couldn't he be wrong? That'd wipe the self-satisfied smile off his ridiculous looking face wouldn't it? 

His face _is_ ridiculous, Jakes thinks with petty amusement leaning back in his chair. He looks like a startled fawn, his hair needs a good brush, he looks like he gets dressed in the dark.

Jakes sucks on his pencil as he glances at his empty mug, contents drained some hours ago. Sometimes he'll make Morse a cup of tea and the man won't even stop his endless tap tapping on his typewriter to drink it. It just sits there till it goes cold. What kind of man doesn't drink a cup of tea that his colleague has very kindly made him? And, what's worse, on the few occasions Morse has made him tea he's pretty sure he's only put one sugar in instead of two. He always glares at him accusingly but for all his famed detecting skills he doesn't seem to notice.

And, still, Jakes has tried to be nice, he's invited him to the pub on more than one occasion only to be turned down because Morse is 'busy' with 'paperwork' and he'd rather sit there frowning on his own, the angles of his face all sharp under the glow of his desk lamp. And Jakes knows fine well he goes to the pub with Strange sometimes, and he doesn't care, he's not offended, he doesn't really want to drink with Morse anyway, he only says it to be polite.

Jakes sits the pencil in between his teeth. Of course then there's the small matter of his propensity to injure himself, probably Morse's most irritating quality. Because just when he thinks Morse is a Class A pain in the arse, he'll go and get himself hurt or even almost killed. Really, he's never met anyone so utterly determined to put himself in harm's way. And that makes it so much harder for Jakes to maintain his annoyance at Morse, which is, well it's just plain rude really. Afterwards, he sits there all bruised and battered and that's worse somehow than him looking smug because he looks so pathetic and forlorn, all pale and small, unkempt hair falling into his face. And Jakes finds himself _worrying_ about him, looking up from whatever he's supposed to be doing at his desk to check that Morse hasn't fainted or doubled over in agony. When he went and got himself shot, well that was the height of irritation, he's pretty sure Morse did it just to wind him up.

While Morse was on light duties, in the aftermath of the shooting, Jakes found himself lying awake at 2 in the morning, wondering if Morse was taking care of himself. Was he eating properly? Was he getting enough sleep? Was he sitting on his own in the dark drinking too much? And that just wasn't on 'cause he doesn't want to care about Morse of _all_ people. Besides, as soon as Morse returned to Cowley Station, it seemed like only a matter of minutes before he was rolling his eyes at a perfectly valid theory Jakes had put forward and he could've slapped Morse round the head himself, gunshot wound be damned.

'Are you alright?' A familiar voice sounding half concerned, half irritated, cuts into Jakes' thoughts.

'Hmmpfh?' Jakes says around his pencil.

'You've been staring into space for the last ten minutes,' Morse says in that tone of vague superiority.

Jakes casually puts his pencil back on his desk. 'Yeah, well, I was thinking, wasn't I, about the _case_.' Morse looks unconvinced and Jakes wonders for a worrying half a second if his esteemed colleague's cleverness extends into telepathy. He glances over at the clock. And really how is that the time? He should've left ages ago. His chair scrapes noisily across the floor. 'Right, I'm off.' He pauses after pulling on his coat. 'I'm off to the pub if you, er, fancy a drink?'

'I've, um, got a lot of...'

'Paperwork. Right. Course.' He's not surprised. He's certainly not disappointed. He reaches in his pocket for his lighter.

'But I suppose I could pop in for one, in a bit.'

'Yeah?' Jakes forces down the eager smile that has alarmingly formed on his face and shrugs. 'If you want.'

Out in the cold evening air, cigarette smoke trailing from his mouth, he thinks that _maybe_ now and then, Morse isn't so bad. 

He'd better get a bloody round in though.


End file.
